They were unable to go that same day to Belchantska, for Pan Gideon
weakened considerably after bleeding, and said that some rest was
needed. Next morning, however, he felt brighter; he had grown young, as
it were, and he approached his own mansion with good hope, though with
a certain disquiet. Occupied with his own thoughts entirely, he spoke
little along the way with the prelate, but when they were entering the
village he felt his disquiet increasing.
"This is a wonder to me," said he. "Ere this time I came home as a man
who is master, and all others were concerned about this, with what face
would I greet them; while now I am the anxious one, I ask myself how
will they greet me."
"Virgil has said," replied the prelate, "'_amor omnia vincit_' (love
conquers everything), but he forgot to add, that it changes everything
also. This Delilah will not shear your locks, for you are bald, but
that I shall see you spinning at her feet, as Hercules spun at the feet
of Omphale, is certain."
"Ei! my nature is not of that kind. I have known always how to hold in
my fists both servants and household."
"So people say, but for this very reason it lies in the position that
some one will take you in hand very thoroughly."
"The hand is a dear one!" said Pan Gideon, with a joyousness which for
him was unusual.
They drove very slowly, for the mud in the village was terrible; since
they had started from Radom not so soon after midday, night had fallen
already. In the cottages at the two sides of the road light came from
the windows and stretched in red lines to the cottages opposite. Here
and there near the fence appeared some human form, that of a woman, or
of a man who, seeing the travellers, bared his head and bowed as low as
his girdle. It was clear from these bowings, which seemed excessive,
that Pan Gideon held people in his fist, nay more, that he held them
too firmly, and that Father Voynovski blamed him, not without reason,
for tyranny. But the old noble felt in his bosom a softer heart than
had ever been in it till that evening, so looking at those bent
figures, and seeing the windows of those cottages leaning earthward, he
said,--
"I will grant some favor to those subjects whose part she takes
always."
"Oh, see to it that thou do so," said the prelate.
And they were silent. Pan Gideon was occupied for a time with his own
thoughts, then he added,--
"I know that you need no advice in this matter; but you must explain to
the lady what a benefaction is becoming ready for her, and that I think
about her first of all; but in case of resistance, which I do not
expect,--well, then even scold her in some degree."
"You said that you did not wish to constrain her."
"I said so, but it is one thing if I were to threaten, and another if
some one else, who, besides, is a spiritual person, exposes her
ingratitude."
"Leave that task to me. I have undertaken it and will use my best
efforts; but I will talk to the girl in the most tender way possible."
"Very well, very well! But one word more. She feels great abhorrence
for Tachevski, but should there be any mention of him it would be well
to say something more against him."
"If he has acted as you say, this will not be needed."
"We are arriving. Well! In the name of the Father and the Son--"
"And the Holy Ghost--Amen!"
They arrived, but no one came out to meet them, for the wheels made no
sound because of deep mud, and the dogs did not bark at the horses or
at the men, whom they recognized. It was dark in the hall, for the
servants were evidently sitting in the kitchen; and it happened that
when Pan Gideon first called, "Is any one here?" no one came to him,
and at the second call, in sharper tones, the young lady herself
appeared.
She came holding a light in her hand, but since she was in the gleam of
it and they in the darkness she, not seeing them at once, remained near
the threshold; and they did not speak for a moment since to begin with,
it seemed a special sign to them, that she had come out before others,
and second, because her beauty astonished them as much as if they had
never beheld it till that moment.
The fingers with which she grasped the candle seemed transparent and
rosy; the gleam crept along her bosom, lighted her lips and her small
face which looked somewhat drowsy and sad, perhaps because her eyes
were in a deep shade while her forehead and the glorious bright hair,
which was as a crown just above it, were still in full radiance. And
she all in quiet and splendor stood there in the gloom like an angel
created from ruddy brightness.
"Oh, as God is dear to me, a vision!" said the prelate.
Then Pan Gideon called,--
"Anulka!"
Leaving the light on a nitch of the chimney, she ran to them and gave
greeting, joyously. Pan Gideon pressed her to his heart with much
feeling, commanded her to rejoice at the arrival of a guest so
distinguished, a man famous as a giver of counsel, and when after
greeting they entered the dining-hall he asked,--
"Is supper over?"
"No. The servants were to bring it from the kitchen, and that is why no
one was standing at the entrance."
The prelate looked at the old noble, and asked,--
"Then perhaps without waiting?"
"No, no," answered Pan Gideon, "Pani Vinnitski will be here directly."
Thereupon Pani Vinnitski made herself felt in reality, and fifteen
minutes later they sat down to heated wine and fried eggs. The prelate
ate and drank well, but at the end of the supper his face became
serious, and he said, turning to Panna Anulka,--
"My gracious young lady, God knows why people call me a counsellor and
why they take advice of me, but since your guardian does so, I must
speak with you on a certain task of importance which he has given my
poor wit to accomplish."
When Pan Gideon heard this, the veins swelled on his forehead; the
young lady paled somewhat, and rose in disquiet, for, through some
unknown reason, it seemed to her that the prelate would talk about
Yatsek.
"I beg you to another room," said he.
And they left the dining-hall.
Pan Gideon sighed deeply once and a second time; then he drummed on the
table with his fingers, and feeling the need of talking down his
internal emotion by words of some kind, he said to Pani Vinnitski,--
"Have you noticed how all the relatives of my late wife hate Anulka?"
"Especially the Krepetskis," answered Pani Vinnitski.
"Ha! they almost grit their teeth when they see her; but soon they will
grit them still harder."
"How is that?"
"You will learn in good season; but meanwhile we must find a bed for
the prelate."
After a time Pan Gideon was alone. Two servants came to remove the
supper dishes, but he sent them away with a quick burst of anger, and
there was silence in the dining-hall, only the great Dantsic clock
repeated loudly and with importance: tik-tak! tik-tak! Pan Gideon
placed his hand on his bald head and began to walk in the chamber. He
approached the door beyond which the prelate was talking with Anulka,
but he heard merely sounds in which he distinguished the voice but not
the words of the prelate. So in turn he walked and halted. He went to
the window, for it seemed to him that there he would breathe with more
freedom. He looked for a while at the sky, with eyes from which
expression had vanished,--that sky over which the wind was hurrying the
torn clouds of spring, with light on their upper edges through which
the pale moon seemed to rise higher and higher. As often as he rested
an evil foreboding took hold of him. He looked through the window close
to which black limbs of trees were wrestling back and forth with the
wind, as if in torment; in the same way his thoughts were struggling
back and forth, disordered, evil, resembling reproaches of conscience,
and painful forebodings that some bad thing would happen, and that near
punishment was waiting--but when it grew bright out of doors, again
better hope entered him.
Every one has a right to think of his own happiness--as to Yatsek
Tachevski it was of little importance what such people do! What was the
question at present? The happiness and calm future of a young girl; but
besides this there smiled on him a little life in his old age--and this
belongs to him. This only is real, the rest is wind, wind!
And he felt again a turning of the head, and black spots danced before
his vision, but that lasted very briefly. Then he approached the door
behind which his fate was in the balance. Meanwhile the light on the
table acquired a long wick and the chamber grew gloomy. At times the
voice of the prelate became sharper, so that words would have reached
the ear of Pan Gideon had it not been for that loud and continuous
"tik-tak." It was easy to understand that such a conversation could not
end quickly, still, Pan Gideon's alarm grew and grew, turning, as it
were, into certain wonderful questions woven into the past, with
memories not only of former misfortunes and pain, but also of former
unextinguished transgressions, of former grievous sins, and of recent
injustices inflicted not only on Tachevski, but on others.
"Why and wherefore shouldst thou be happy?" asked his conscience.
And he would have given at that moment he knew not how much if even
Pani Vinnitski might return to the chamber, so that he should not be
alone with those thoughts of his. But Pani Vinnitski was occupied
somewhere with work in another part of the mansion, while in that
dining-hall there was nothing but the clock with its "tik-tak!"
"For what deed should God reward thee?" asked his conscience.
Pan Gideon felt now that if that girl, who was at once like a flower
and an angel, should fail him, there would be a darkness in his life
which would last till the night of death should descend on him.
With that the door opened on a sudden and Panna Sieninski came in from
the next chamber. She was pale; there were tears in her eyes; and
behind her was the prelate.
"Art thou weeping?" asked Pan Gideon, with a hoarse, stifled voice.
"From gratitude, guardian," cried she, stretching her hands to him.
And she fell at his knees there.